"Father, I'm sorry," I whispered, as I swam closer. The words came out of my mouth in a trail of bubbles.
Father's eyes held me, shining in the ghastly pallor of his face. He didn't look blessed, or happy. Just disappointed. Sad. The same look his body had had, even in death.
"Father…" I couldn't speak. I couldn't make myself heard. Father just shook his head, and didn't answer me.
Neutemoc was a dead weight in my arms. I dragged him closer, struggling to reach Father's body. If only I could be close enough, so that he could read my lips. If only I could apologise – for the vigil, for Neutemoc…
For myself.
"You still do everything as if he were alive, don't you?" a mocking voice asked.
Slowly, I shifted around, half-turned away from the tree.
The child-god Mazatl hung in the water, a few measures away from me. Green light flowed around him, outlining his body and the white tunic he wore. And in the light stood a monstrous figure with dark eyes, laying His hands on the child's shoulder, His fanged mouth resting close to Mazatl's ears, whispering words that the child flung back at me.
"Tlaloc," I whispered. The acrid taste of the lake's water filled my mouth, and only a thin thread of sound came out.
"Mazatl," the child said, a bare whisper that was almost human. But then he was speaking again with Tlaloc's voice, a thunder that made the water shake around us. "Or rather, not any more. Now I am called Popoxatl."
The Strength of Rain.
"Well named," I whispered.
I kicked, trying to rise to the surface. The end of the green light was so tantalisingly close. I could be out of the Storm Lord's territory, and into a place where the rules of the Fifth World applied. But Neutemoc's body, weighing me down, prevented me from rising any further.
An expression of animal cunning spread across Popoxatl's face: a sickening thing to see on a face so young. "You don't want to answer my question, do you, Acatl? Tell me."
"About what?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. I didn't know why I was seeking to gain time, but every instinct spoke against angering Tlaloc while I was still underwater.
"Your father, of course," Popoxatl said.
In the tree's roots, Father opened his mouth, revealing rows of yellowed teeth, struggling to speak, but unable to do so.
A game. Popoxatl was playing with me until I ceased to amuse. I tightened my grip on Neutemoc's body.
"Answer me," Popoxatl said. "Do you not do everything as if your parents had never died?"
"Mother died four years ago," I said, slowly. "Father, seven. I've made my own way. I don't see what You want." But I knew.
I wished Chalchiutlicue would do something, anything to rescue me. But despite the waters contracting around me, this wasn't Her dominion. The tree, and everything around it, belonged to the Storm Lord, Tlaloc.
Popoxatl laughed: a slow, rumbling sound that shook the roots of the tree. "Your own way? Oh, Acatl. You risk your own life to save your beloved brother–"
"What I think of Neutemoc has nothing to do with any of this," I snapped. "He's family – my own flesh and blood."
"Your parents' pride," Popoxatl whispered. "Among all the children, the brightest, the most successful."
"He chose his way," I said, unwilling to admit that the child's words hurt me more than they should have. "It led to glory. I don't begrudge–"
"Don't you?" Popoxatl asked. "Don't you, Acatl?"
Tlaloc's shadowy figure bent closer to his child-puppet. Between Popoxatl's outstretched hands, a dark shadow coalesced: a coiled mass of writhing threads.
In my hands, Neutemoc stirred. His eyes fluttered, but remained closed.
"Such a worthy man, is your brother. So much the pride of his children. Lusting after a priestess," Popoxatl whispered, and behind him came Eleuia's body, changing as it became closer to us, gaining flesh and colour and life – until she stood next to Popoxatl, her head cocked at a mischievous angle, her regenerated eyes sparkling with dark joy.
She started to dance: slowly weaving her way, with unbelievable grace, through the steps of some ritual. But in her eyes shone greed, and an unhealthy hunger.
The Duality curse her. Why did she have to tempt my brother?
Why did he have to be foolish enough to yield?
I backed nearer to the tree's roots, still clutching Neutemoc close to me.
Popoxatl laughed. "Such a whore, wasn't she?"
I said nothing. I could make no answer to this. I kept my gaze fixed upwards, towards the tree's trunk, which broke the surface just a few handspans away from me.
All I had to do was swim. But I couldn't. Neutemoc held me down there, as surely as I held him in my arms.
Come on, Neutemoc. Wake up.
"And still you cling to him," Popoxatl whispered, amused. "Still you make amends for him. Is he worth this, Acatl? Worth the wounds you suffered for him?"
I remembered battling the beast of shadows – the claws, sinking into my flesh. I remembered standing in the Imperial Court, withstanding Tizoc-tzin's amused stare. I remembered the Wind of Knives, lifting me high above Him, throwing me on the ground.
It was worth it. Neutemoc was my brother. My flesh and blood.
But I did not love him.
"He is–" I whispered. Everything I could not be. My parents' hope for the future. The perfect son.
Popoxatl opened his hands wide, and the dark shadows rushed towards me, wrapped themselves around me until they blotted out the world.
In my mind's eye I saw Neutemoc: not the bright, valiant warrior I'd always imagined, but a man mortally afraid – yearning for the bright simplicity of his warrior's life, never seeing that the past couldn't be called back.
I saw the hundred petty hurts Neutemoc delivered Huei – how he ran away from her in the birthing-room, as he had run away from Mother's death – how he sat away from her at banquets, his head turned towards his guests – how he heard but did not listen to what she said. I saw him turn away from his own children – too afraid of losing them to show them the least affection. I saw him walk into the darkness, willing himself to find the courage to end it all – never finding it.
He couldn't find it. He couldn't find anything.
Was this the man I had worshipped, the pride of my parents' eyes? This coward?
I saw him meet Eleuia, and how he made ready to betray his marriage without the slightest hint of regret – never thinking of what it would do to Huei, or to his children – never seeing how much Huei suffered from his pettiness.
In the end, he was the only one responsible for the failure of his marriage.
"Such a good man," Popoxatl whispered, his voice mocking. "Worth every wound, every injury, Acatl."
Worth… nothing.
It would be so easy, to open my hands. So easy to let him sink into the depths of the lake; and to rise myself, my knife in my hand, doing what had to be done to save the Fifth World.
What was a life, compared to what was at stake?